


==>Dave: Lose Your Inherent Cool

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Bathroom, Blow Job, Detention, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Job, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are seventeen and this is your first detention. It has been years since you so much as talked to Dave Strider. He's arguably a player, arguably a bad student. However, you just don't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	==>Dave: Lose Your Inherent Cool

(John POV)  
You have never been so angry.

Why the hell did you even get detention in the first place? Right- because you were being a derp again and paused just a little bit too long to talk to Jade, (for a good reason), and ended up being late for Algebra. _Again_. Ms. Lalonde is just a big bitch who likes to dole out punishments like they’re rice and everybody here is starving third-world country kids. You’re getting off track.

Right now you’re sitting in a desk that makes you five inches shorted than everyone else, and you’re surrounded by kids you know are bad news. Karkat Vantas is sitting behind you and you can feel his eyes _boring into the back of your head._

Everything you hear about him you try to convince yourself are rumors, because A, you’re too good of a person, and B, no one could be that insufferable. You’re starting to believe it may be possible though. He’s been jiggling his knee for the past half hour and your ass is getting numb.

And in front of you is none other than _Dave fucking Strider_.

Okay, so, he’s not exactly bad. He’s just… he’s like a _myth_. He’s supposed to be able to get away with everything. Why is this cool kid stuck in here with you?

In fact, you haven’t seen much of him since seventh grade. The past three years of classes have split you as far apart as possible. That’s really not too bad with you, because you haven’t spoken to him in any number of years before that. You think the last time was second grade. He pushed you off the swing.

Oh God you are such a _derp_.

You note that Strider is wearing those same dark shades he wears every single day. You know this because it’s a goddamn common fact that he wears them _every. Fucking. Day_. You really wonder how he can get away with that. Isn’t that a violent infringement on dress code rules or something?

There have been a lot of final bells that have raised your spirits, but not one such as this. You are up and out of that seat like it is on fire. As fast as your short legs can carry you, you jog-walk out of there and to the pick up area. Your dad is going to be pissed. So pissed.

Then you have the privilege of a lifetime. Is that big bro Strider? Post grad, senior everyone raved about in your freshman year? He’s ruffling Dave’s hair in a somewhat affectionate manner, which earns him a sneer in return. He just calmly half smiles as they head off towards his car. His cool ass car. Not like your dad’s dumpy ‘Mom’ car. Man Strider is just so cool, isn’t he?

As you predicted, your dad is beyond pissed. He gives you a good lecture in the car about being late, to which you reply you just had to tell Jade something, to which HE replies to stop letting girls distract you from school. Pfft. Like he isn’t lusting after Ms. Lalonde like she’s a bitch in heat. You don’t say this though, of course. The rest of the car ride home is silent and awkward and you’re just so happy to be home that when you get there, you fall right into bed.

  
 _Your week is becoming one big fucking ball of weird._  
You’re not getting pushed into lockers by Ampora or Vantas, and you could have sworn you saw Dave in the hall earlier, and that he gave you _the nod_. Does detention suddenly make you suitable enough to be recognized in this way? You think you might just endure another if it gets the bullies completely off of your back, (and more nods from the Strider.)  
You never knew how much you actually wanted to be noticed until that one twitch happened. You couldn’t even see his eyes. Made he was flipping that blonde hair all the girls rave about out of his face. Or maybe not. Maybe he did nod at you. Fuck. You’re over thinking this way too much.

  
“Egbert, you got a pencil?” You have to take a moment to analyze that voice, it’s so unfamiliar. It’s smooth and deep, like a man already matured, but hell, you’re all only juniors. Who the hell is this jerkwad?

Oh of course. Strider. You nod dumbly. Study hall is the only class you have managed to land with Strider this year. That’s okay with you. He’s sitting backwards in his chair and propping his chin on his right hand, his other hand outstretched and waiting. The fingers are calloused as far as you can see, and you get this belly flop just from scrutinizing the tips so as you rifle around in your backpack. Finally you press a green mechanical number into his palm, (and you feel the roughness of those calluses, which makes your belly flop over again), and he turns back to his work.

You try to focus on your Algebra homework afterwards, but it’s no use, not when your mind is still on such an unmemorable moment. You flew your hand and stare at your fingers and you kind of have that ‘never gonna wash this hand’ moment, before you realize how silly that is. However, you feel like your skin is tingling from the merest of touches.

Then you feel uber gay and have to ask to use the restroom to clear out all of these homosexual thoughts. Because you are just not a homosexual.

  
The mirror in the ‘boys room’ (why do they continue to call it that?),  reflects your distressed face as you just stand there.

Because what else is there to do? Stand there, that’s what. What is your problem this week? You get a little bit of attention from the cool kid and your mind starts driving you to weird places.

You look up at the bathroom door creaks open. Oho, right, speak of the goddamn devil. Temptation is ever so sweet.

Dark shades catch the too-bright overhead lights and momentarily blind you. Strider stops in the doorway and watches you.Or at least you think he does. You can never tell with those glasses. They hide something you kind of desperately want to see. Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.

“Hey Egbert.” he knows your name. You didn’t catch on earlier because he was talking to you, _but dear god up in heaven- he knows your name._

“H-hey.” He needs to stop training those glasses your way. It’s getting creepy.  
 __

 _Click_. The bathroom door has a lock? Why?

Wait, better yet, why is Strider flipping it?

He’s approaching you, with short steps, like a lion stalks his prey. You’re getting afraid. Is he about to like, wildly flip out under some stress you didn’t know he had, and make you his first victim in a school genocide? Please no. Instead, Dave just kind of brushes past you and you’re standing there looking all tense and dorky.

Why were you expecting anything more?

You relax, take a deep breath, and before you can even take a step, a hand curves around your backside and squeezes. Rather hard. You squeak in a way most unflattering and whirl around, hands flying to clasp your ass.

“What in _the hell?!_ ” Dave Strider is straight. He is straighter than a line. Straighty straight straight. Yet you want this to be untrue.

He’s so fucking calm as he raises one perfect, slim eyebrow at you in question. “Something wrong?” There’s no air of pompousness of condescension to his voice, which you were completely expecting. He’s just… so calm! He’s speaking in a monotone and has got this look on his face that’s more blank than a slate. God. Fuck. Why did he have to lock the door?

Then, “U-uh, no-” Why in God’s good name did you say that?

Strider pushes off the sink that he’s been leaning on and flips his hair out of his eyes. Another step towards you. You don’t move, kind of stupidly. Those lovely, calloused fingers slip under your chin, and next thing you know, _you’re kissing Dave mother fucking Strider._

Your glasses clink together awkwardly and your eyes widen, a blush settling over your cheeks. Simultaneous thoughts of _I’m losing my first kiss to a boy_ and _Dave Strider is my first kiss_ float around in your head. Finally you think to push or pull away, but by this point, he’s moved in, a firm hand buried in your hair and pulling you deeper into a kiss you’re beginning to enjoy.

His tongue is warm and wet and it obviously knows what it’s doing- he obviously knows what he’s doing- because your lips open compliantly, and you peek your tongue out shyly to prod his. “KAH-” Air leaves you in a puff as he presses your back to the side of a stall. This is so…

WRONG!

You’re suddenly beating against his chest, pushing and prying, until your lip lock breaks, (not before he nips your bottom lip in a way that makes you muffle a groan.) He only arches an eyebrow at you, stoic, completely at ease even as you’re gasping for breath. This bastard ticks you off. “Stop.” You hiss.

This certainly seems to draw something out of him. His expression flashes between irritation and calm. He presses against you. “Come on, Egbert.” A long, wet appendage languidly follows the shell of your ear. “A second ago you were mackin’ on me like a chick.” That fucker- “Must’a liked it as much as I did.” he breathes into your ear and you involuntarily groan. Why is he so good at this? You’re pretty sure he’s had a lot of practice with the ladies, but how can he make you shiver and turn into a puddle with only a few well placed licks and touches?

Oh fuck, you’re acting _like_ a chick.

“Seem’ta like this too.” His lips brush close to your ear, voice making your brain go fuzzy. It’s so loud and so close, you barely register the pull and snap of your pants button until it’s already been done. Clearing your head for a moment, you find some courage inside you to voice how uncomfortable with this situation you are. However, one gentle grind of Stri- _Dave’s_ \- hips has you _moaning_ , and you’re pretty sure that’s where you’ve lost this battle.

There’s a haughty sort of chuckle in your ear, which you kind of want to punch him for- however, he keeps cutting off your reactions. This time, his hand wraps around your arousal- _when did it even get in your boxers?_ \- fingers running slowly from tip to base. _Agonizingly_ slowly. Your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching you’re teeth, refusing to make a sound. No matter how much you want to, you can’t give him the satisfaction of- “Oh fuck _hnnnng~_ ”

  
(Dave POV)  
John’s back arches, and you can see his hands curl then flex out on the stall wall. You divide his attention- taking his earlobe between your teeth and sucking while your thumb runs a lazy circle around the tip if his erection. He shivers, whining, “Don’t tease-” Why does this dork get under your skin in all the right ways?

“Or what, Egbert?” You slow the movements of your hand.

“J-john.”

You arch an eyebrow. Should this matter to you? “Eh?”

“My name is _John_.” You already knew that, you just don’t give a flying fuck.

“…Answer my question, _John_.” Then your movements stop completely.

“Hnng- I-I’ll…” He seems to struggle for words. Those buck teeth of his sink ink his lip anxiously. “I’ll suck you off _if you just fucking move already_.” Dave Strider knows when he hears a good deal. John’s probably just a desperate man throwing words around, but Dave will hold him to it.

This is the first time you’ve ever done this on anyone else, and it’s making you smug as hell to see him react this way. You finally pull away from the crook of his neck, (there’s a hickey blossoming under his ear), to watch him, watch the way his lips twitch, or the way his eyelashes flutter, or even just listen to the way your name slides from his lips between pants as he gets closer.

“Aw, fuck-” His eyebrows pull together, and a muffled cry of what you assume is supposed to be your name, (it comes out garbled), bubbles from his throat. Your hand goes to his hip, resting, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“Dave…” His hands curl around your shirt, and you look him in the eyes. They’re half-lidded, hazed with pleasure. With want. _Tug tug_. Your bodies press flush together, and his lips seek yours, soft and insistent. God this guy.

“You promised me something, Egbert.” You murmur against his lips. The blue of his eyes is harshly muted by your shades. But you can’t take them off. The light is much too bright in here. So you’ll settle for now. Maybe one day when the light isn’t so bright- hah, what are you saying? Egbert is barely comfortable with doing this now, let alone ever again.

Your pants make a _flop_ as they hit the floor. You’ll admit you’ve macked on a lot of girls, but the Strider hasn’t fucked. You’ve had your fair share of sloppy blowjobs though, of course. But no, never fucked. Possible because your standards are ridiculously high, which is what most people say. But not so much. You’ve just never felt it for the ladies. You’ve never felt it for anyone. Until Egbert.

His fingers brush your length lightly, bringing you out of your thoughts with a hiss. He has his head down, where you can’t see him anymore, only the slightest quirk of his lips and eyebrows. You have the vague thought that this wasn’t supposed to be a hand job, which you are almost prepared to point out to him in the most annoyed manner possible, when he slowly begins sliding to his knees. It makes your breath catch for some reason- maybe the way he looks, face impassive and bordering on apprehensive, lips parted just so, eyes surveying what’s in front of him. He gives you the damndest look, eyes shining, and you watch as he takes the tip of your member into his mouth.

You think it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks so innocent, fingers sliding up your length to press to your pelvis, tongue take an experimental lick at what he has in his mouth so far. Your chest hurts from lack of air- you don’t dare breath out. It somehow seems like if you do, you’ll lose this moment. His eyes flick up to look at you from time to time, your member slowly but surely disappearing into his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to hard and not trying at all, all at once. His actions are hesitant, which almost screw the entire thing up, but every time he looks at you, every time his thumb reaches up and caresses from your navel downwards, you lose your inherent cool. You reach down at some point, fingers threading through his locks, forehead pressing to the stall as you let out a breathy sound. He just sucks a bit harder- he’s getting cocky, and you kind of like it. His tongue flicks against the top of your arousal once, twice, three times- “Fuck, John-” A moan gurgles out of your mouth. Shit you’re weak- it’s barely been a few minutes, and already your stomach clenches, unfurling, heat spilling into a pool in the bottom of your abdomen. You tense up and pant for breath.

Faintly, you hear him clearing his throat, coughing a bit even. Looking down, you shake your head, sweat beading on your brow. It’s sliding into your eyes, and when you reach up to rub it away, hand disentangling from his hair, your glasses knock against your knuckles and the stall, then clatter unceremoniously to the floor.  
 __

 _Fuck._

You squint-blink down at him, cursing. He pants a little, eyes widening. “Your eyes-”

You don’t want to hear it. Your eyes, your eyes. It’s always about your eyes. You bend over and snatch them from the floor, but John reaches out and grabs them.

“Don’t fucking- I need those!” But he’s playing keep away.

“I want to see your eyes.”

You freeze up and he just sits there, clutching your glasses to his chest. No one ever wants to see your eyes. They always creep people out. You exhale softly. “What?”

“I… I want to see your eyes.” he repeats.

He rises up before you really have the chance to realize, and your foreheads meet. “Come on, Strider, where’s that cool?”

You grin a little. “Right here where it belongs.”

Then your hands curl around his body, down his back, under his pants, and clasp his backside. His pants begin to slide down his legs, and you tug up. He squeaks, and you hike his legs around your waist. This moment is awkward and astounding in one, as he looks at you anxiously. “I’m on bottom?” Why did he ever think otherwise?

“’Course, Egbert.”

“John!” He says it now through gritted teeth.

Sighing, you press forward, Your lips settle against his ear, right where they were in the beginning, the place that makes him shiver. “Fine then- _John_.”

He indeed shudders, and arches into you. This is an invitation of sorts for you. You inch his boxers off and run your hands along his thighs. “Relax, bro.”

He nods, but doesn’t really, just gripping your hips with his thighs, his hands gripping the back of your neck. You press against him, flush, so the wall supports some of his weight. Meanwhile, you move a hand to your mouth, gratuitously licking two fingers. He makes a displeased face at this. You shrug. “Wanna go dry bro?” To which he shakes his head vigorously.

You reach down, trying to work with the tricky positioning, and manage to finally slide a finger inside him. He winces, clutching you so hard it hurts. It’s slow work, your finger making very little leeway. You let his grow accustom to it, then pull out only to thrust right back in. He hisses a little, so you go slower after that. You’re liking this- watching him squirm and hiss and eventually fade into moans.

When he’s finally pushing against two fingers you have inside him, you think it’s okay for you to pull them out. You give him a slow glance- asking him if he’s okay with this. He gives a short nod.

His arms encircle your neck slowly and he hefts his hips up a little bit. You slowly join together, his face twisting in pain. Your head in swimming- he’s tight and hot and you’re unsteady on you’re feet and fuck the light hurts. But _Dave Strider_ is trying to be somewhat unselfish right now, so you squint a bit and watch as John bites his lip and groans. You have to remind yourself of all the good you’ve already brought to this situation to overcome a guiltiness forming in your stomach.

Seconds fade into minutes. You’ve got, what, thirty minutes left to study hall? It’s the last class of the day, and you want to make this count. He’s adjusted with a few minutes of pure stillness, and you murmur into his ear to affirm what you’re only assuming. He nods briefly. “Just move, Dave. Please.” His voice begins to whine.

You press your face into his hair, exhaling slowly as you begin to rock your hips. His fingers flex on the back of your neck. Everything slows down until there is only the movement of your hips and the collective sound of your breathing and moans. Sometimes you pick out other things- the way he’ll whine your name when he wants just a little bit more, or how he’ll begin to meet your thrusts, or just the way he bites his lip to restrain some too-loud sound. The odd thought occurs to you to tell him how much you’re turning him on, but it’s quickly shoved aside. You don’t do things like that.

Then he looks at you, mouth open mid-pant, his hips moving with yours, and something in you breaks a little. He looks so innocent and adorable. Your lips mash together and he yelps into your mouth. You suck on his bottom lip, breathing heavily through your nose. He gives a muffled moan of your name.

Things start to wind down, every other breath _John John John_ , and he’s tightening around you and begging, _pleading_ , for you to just go a little faster, a little harder. He’s so close. You open your eyes fully when he comes, his body arching into yours and his release hitting both of you in the midsection. He can barely muffle his cry- “ _Daaaaaave~!_ ”

Watching him makes you shudder, and you moments later, head tipping back and lips parting with a cry. Everything is still and slow and sticky following. Every breath you take is a deep one, and you stay slumped against the wall for minutes after, recovering. Finally, you catch his eyes. He’s blushing like an idiot, head resting against the wall. He licks his lips and whispers to you, “Can I ask you something, Dave?”

You nod.

“Why?”

That’s a really good question, you have to give him credit. But you just don’t have a good answer. You just know that you’ve never felt this fulfilled in your entire life.

“Egbert?”

“Hnn?”

“Don’t ruin the moment man.” He tenses for a moment, but sighs and concedes.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Livejournal.  
> I feel I wrote the entire thing in a sort of 'Dave' mindset.  
> There are typos that I am aware of, however, I don't usually edit one-shot items. I apologize if this is an inconvenience.  
> Pretty sure this is explicit.


End file.
